Discarded Pillows
by TreacleTart301
Summary: I catch my first sight of him over by the bar. My heart leaps as he looks up and notices me staring at him. I want so badly to sprint over to him and throw myself in his arms.


A bright green flash illuminates the room before me. I see high arching marble ceilings and chandeliers that drip with crystals. Palm trees and other exotic flowers decorate the room. It's like the designer couldn't decide between the Taj Mahal or Tahiti, so he just mixed the two together. The combination is a bit strange, but overall the place is quite breathtaking.

"Welcome to Cabana 7, Mr. Potter. Allow me to dust the floo powder off of your shirt," says a boyishly handsome young attendant who stands just to the right of the fireplace that I've entered from.

I smile at him and nod my head. I don't talk, not because I want to be rude, but because I'm never sure exactly what to say in these types of situations.

My response seems to be satisfactory and he continues, "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your table. Ms. Weasley and a few others are already there."

"Thank you," I say as I move into place behind him. He leads me around the crowded dance area and the heavy beat of the music playing vibrates deep down into my bones. I find myself wondering for the millionth time why I'm even here at all.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter. I've heard that you are quite the Firewhiskey connoisseur, so I've taken the liberty of chilling a bottle of Ogden's Black Label Firewhiskey for you. The bottle has a freezing charm on it, so it should stay nice and cold, even if left on out," the young man explains as he motions to the frosty bottle on the table.

I chuckle at being called a connoisseur. The reality is that I enjoy a glass of firewhiskey from time to time, but nothing more.

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll enjoy it," I answer politely.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Potter?" he asks.

"No. I'm fine. Thank you."

I look slowly around the club, studying the sea of writhing bodies for anyone that might look familiar. Mostly, I'm looking for the telltale Weasley red hair that announces my cousin's presence, but I'm also keeping my eyes open for Marga Skeeter. She has a knack for creating salacious gossip out of thin air and lately I seem to be one of her favorite targets.

Once I am certain that all is well, I take a seat at the table. I help myself to a liberal portion of the firewhiskey. Waiting here for Rose to return is probably the safest way to ensure that I don't end up spending the night alone.

Half of my drink is gone when I spot her brilliant red hair heading towards me, but I try not to let on that I've noticed. In fact, I purposefully ignore her until she's almost right up against the table.

"Made it after all, did you?" Rose spits.

My eyes bulge and my jaw drops in fake offense. "Me? Miss my own cousin's birthday? I would never."

Rose waves her wand and my glass instantly refills itself. "Now, will you hurry up and down that so we can go dance? We're missing all the good songs."

Deep down, I know that it's a bad idea to start pounding firewhiskey, particularly this early in the evening, but when Rose gets impatient there's no arguing with her. I raise my glass to my lips, toss my head back, and pour the spicy liquid down my throat.

"What's your rush? Who'd you come with anyway?"

My stomach plummets to my feet when I see Rose's reaction. Her gaze is locked on the floor as if something fascinating is happening between her shoes. I immediately know that he must be here. Bile scorches the soft flesh of my throat. I can't see him. Not here. Not now.

"Look, I know the breakup was rough, but he's my best friend and you're my cousin. You two have to stop asking me to pick sides. It's not fair. Besides, it's clear that you two still love each other and I'm tired of these stupid games you're playing. If you want to waste your lives torturing yourselves, fine, but I'm done participating in it. Now, it's my birthday and I want to dance, so let's go," Rose demanded.

"It's not that simple Rose…" I begin.

Rose cuts across my words before I even have a chance to speak. "I know, Albus. I've already heard it from you a thousand times. I've heard it from Scorpius a thousand times too. I'm over it and I suggest you get over it too. Maybe you need to think about what he means to you and whether this childish grudge is worth losing the love of your life."

I'm trying my best to listen to what Rose is saying, but suddenly my head feels light and her words seem to be warped. The firewhiskey that I pounded earlier is circulating through my blood stream causing my vision to blur.

"You just don't get it. You aren't a Potter. You don't know what its like having the media constantly following you," I whinge.

Loud guttural laughter booms from Rose's throat. I start a bit at the sound of it. "Yeah. You're probably right, Albus. I'm only the daughter of two of the most bloody famous wizards in all of wizarding London! I can't possibly imagine what it must be like to be written about in tabloids. You can't keep using fame as an excuse forever."

"I just don't want my love life to be the front page story of Marga's next gossip column. I'm only trying to keep the things that are important to me out of the spot light."

"Well, you're doing a damn good job of it. Now you have no relationship, so Marga will have nothing to write about," she retorts.

Before I can think of any sort of defense, Rose turns and storms off back into the crowd. I can tell I've crossed some invisible line that she's drawn, although I'm not exactly sure what it was that set her off. Reminding myself that it's her birthday and she deserves to have a good time, I follow after her.

I find her in the crowd surrounded by a large assortment of cousins and friends. I try to be friendly and light as several of them great me, but I feel as if I'm not really present. My entire focus is on scanning the crowd for the silvery blonde hair that I've missed so terribly.

I catch my first sight of him over by the bar. My heart leaps as he looks up and notices me staring at him. I want so badly to sprint over to him and throw myself in his arms. I want to drag him to the fireplaces and floo back to my flat. I want to spend my night convincing him that we never should've broken up in the first place.

The courage is building up inside of me and I'm just getting ready to go to him when Roxanne stops me.

"Don't even think about it, Albus. If you can't give him what he needs, then don't bother. You've hurt that poor boy enough already."

Her words quickly deflate the hope that had been ballooning in my heart. She's right and I know it. I can't give Scorpius what he needs, but it's so hard when just a few hundred feet separate us.

James seems to notice what I'm staring at and disappears for a few seconds. When he returns, he's holding two glasses in one hand and the remainder of the firewhiskey in another. He pours us both generous amounts and I proceed to drown my sorrows.

One glass. Two glasses. Three. I can't remember when I lose count, but before I know it I'm caught up in the music and swirling all over the place. I pull Dominique into my arms and twirl with her. She giggles as we spin faster and faster till we can barely keep up with our own momentum. It's the most fun I've had in ages.

For a moment, I've forgotten the blonde haired man who I love so deeply, but then he taps me on my shoulder.

"Can I cut in?" he asks.

"I'm dancing with Dominique right now," I protest.

I hope that Dominique will back me up, but I have no such luck.

"Go ahead. I'm actually headed over to the bar to chat up that studly bloke who's been checking me out."

Suddenly, it's just me and Scorpius. I don't know what to do or say. Nerves have cemented my feet to the ground. I want to touch him, but my hands are slick with sweat. I want to embrace him, but my arms feel as if they're made of lead. Instead, I stand still, gapping like a fish out of water.

"Albus….," he begins, but then it becomes clear that he has no clue what to say either. He settles for pulling me to him and within seconds of reaching his arms my entire world has righted itself.

"I've missed you so much," I murmur into his shoulder.

He nuzzles my ear in response and whispers, "Me too."

The two of us lose ourselves in the music and the intoxication of each other's presence. We dance together as if nothing has ever happened between us. I find myself questioning why I ever let him leave in the first place.

Alcohol mixed with physical contact leads us to kissing. Kissing leads us to the floo. The floo leads us back to Scorpius' posh London flat and before I can assess whether I'm doing the right thing or not, we fall into his bed.

Scorpius kisses me and all control is lost. Sheets tangle around us and pillows crash to the floor. I'm sure his neighbors in the flat next door can hear me calling his name, but I don't care. I'm lost in a state of sheer bliss.

My insecurities about coming out publicly vanish. Worries that Marga Skeeter will find out who I'm dating and turn it into a gossip column are abandoned. Perhaps, in the harsh light of the morning, they'll return, but for now all I care about is the man in my arms and the fact that I never want him to leave again.

* * *

 _Hi there!_

 _This story was originally written for The Addicted To Albus And Scorpius Challenge on HPFF. This was my first time writing this pairing and I quite enjoyed it._

 _I do want to give a big thank you to Roisin for allowing me to briefly borrow her character Marga Skeeter. If you haven't already, you should go read her amazing story A Study In Silver, which is where Marga first appears. Roisin was also full of limitless suggestions for the name of the club and helped me narrow it down to Cabana 7, which is a riff on Bungalow 8._

 _Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is much appreciated._

 _~Kaitlin/TreacleTart_


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